


Rain for the Dead

by fizumono



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Post-Zombie Apocalypse, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 05:49:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5445560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizumono/pseuds/fizumono
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a street full of roaming Undead, Hannibal Lecter tips his head back and lets the rain wash over him. </p><p>A Zombie Apocalypse Hannigram AU. </p><p>TW: Zombies, Murder Husbands, blood and gore, and cannibalism (duh).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain for the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Zombie Apocalypse Hannigram AU based very vaguely on a (very nsfw) manga by Uziga Waita with the name "You, after the rain", the title comes from the teaser trailer that is based on the very same manga.
> 
> TW: Zombies, blood and gore, and cannibalism (duh).

The setting sun is eerily red. A rain is falling from the sky, raindrops hitting the ground like blood, like tears. 

Hannibal Lecter lets the freezing cold deluge soak his blood-stained shirt as raises his head to the sky. He imagines each raindrop is a note in a symphony of musical tones, and a hauntingly beautiful faraway tune starts playing in his head. The remaining flecks of blood splatted on Hannibal's face are beginning to dry uncomfortably, he rubs his trembling hand over his face, and exhales an exhausted sigh. 

The rain has been pouring for days, washing away the first December snow. Mixed with the blood clotted on the surface of sidewalk, filthy melted snow flows into the gutters dyeing them a deep shade of red. 

God is terrific, really. For some reason - for his only amusement, perhaps - God decides to give humanity the gift of immortality; Meaning people who die, they don't stay dead. They come back as one of those things...the living dead. 

The plague has wiped out two-third of the population on Earth, with the majority of human being turned into the living dead, the _Biters_. Biters hunt majorly with their sense of smell rather than their sense of sight. Their poor olfactory sense, however, is easily compromised and confused. A heavy rain is enough to wash away and disguise any human walking by. The remaining humans who are alive, who still possess the will to live, they are only safe to go out in the city area when it rains so that the large crowd of Biters gathering in the streets - gathering everywhere - won't be able to smell them.

The heavy rain falling right now should be enough to conceal Hannibal's human scent, and protect him from the infected wandering in the Baltimore street. He keeps his pace slow, light, steady, but he has not let his guard down at all. There are two more blocks before he can reach his house, a group of about seven Biters is already following him in confusion uncomfortably close behind him. They are sniffing the air with their nose up in the air, their face expression puzzled but feral, letting out vicious, awful groaning, hissing noises. They have perhaps sniff out the blook-soaked meat in the bag he is carrying, and they may attack Hannibal at any moment; Hannibal tightens his grip on the rusted hatchet in his other hand ready to chop off their heads shall any of them dare to jump him. 

Some of the Biters are banging their heads repeatedly on the nearest vertical surface, some are just walking aimlessly in silence. The are all pathetic, foul existence to be slaughtered - but they are not too different from before they were dead really, Hannibal muses to himself - most of them merely walking sacks of blood and flesh that serves to be devoured and drained even without infection. 

The group of Biters begins to disperse with disinterest after following Hannibal for one and a half block, about time when Hannibal's lone house comes into view. 

Looking around him one more time just to make sure nothing filthy has followed him home, Hannibal secured the axe to the strap on his back, jumps and climbs over the hedge and the bolted metal gate of his garden swift like a big cat, then dashes to the main door, unlocks his reinforced main door and slips through the crack in one swift motion; His eyes never stop moving while his mind is in full alert. By the time Hannibal secures the heavy oak door again, he is exhausted, physically and mentally. With his back leaning on the door, Hannibal tries very hard to calm his heavy breathing, feeling adrenaline fiercely coursing in his veins. His eyes are half-closed, but his hands are clutching themselves in tight fists. 

Even though his house has been adequately locked down and boarded up, there might still be a chance for the Biters to sneak into it while he was gone. Hannibal listens with his ears cocked, waiting for a sound, any sound, but there is only silence in the house. Satisfied, he returns the blood soaked axe on his back to the rack on the wall by the door for disinfection later when he carries out his routine cleaning. He is extremely carefully about not to cut his own hand on the sharp edge. One minor cut, he will get infected and all is over.

Slipping himself free from the straps tied across his chest and back over his shirt, Hannibal swings the large duffle bag he is carrying over his head, and it lands heavily on the wooden floor with a dull thud. He removes his drenched shirt and jeans methodically, discarding them on the floor to clean later, then puts on a set of comfortably dry sweater and sweatpants he has prepared at the foyer. 

He still has a lot of things to do that has to be done as soon as possible. His hand picks up the duffel bag on the floor and walks towards his kitchen; His face stoic, without emotions as if he was bracing himself for emotions he is about to feel.

Even thought it's only late afternoon, the interior of his house is gloomy and still, weakly illuminated only by flickering flames of candles that are being lighted up one by one. Curious shadows cast on the wall make the house feel eerily alive. 

Hannibal's kitchen has been maintained miraculously, meticulously tidy considering that the world is amid a chaotic apocalyptic madness. The kitchen is more or less the same as in the past, except for the broken cupboard doors, long cracks on the walls, and the terrifying claw marks stained with blood on the wooden floor that will probably never be coming out. 

Hannibal put on a kettle of water to boil on his makeshift stove at the fireplace. Electricity and gas are still out, but water supply has miraculously been maintained and the water flowing out of the tap is still cool and clean, which is a miracle - if Hannibal believes in miracles - At this moment after his hunt, Hannibal's numb brain is solely feels grateful while anticipating the pleasure of drinking a cup of hot tea from one of his last remaining chipped china teacups.

Must all good things come to an end? The doctor sighs as he drains the last of the Earl Grey his teacup; His body is warming back up satisfactorily, while his muscles begin to stop shivering. It's time for him to _unpack_.

Opening his bag, taking out the content from within without a single expression on his face, he begins his routine of cleaning, drying and lining up the freshly harvested meat and organs on the kitchen counter. He portions the food out in his mind, constructing in his head what to do with them in the coming days. Even with limited ingredients, resourceful cooks can always find ways to improvise, but the lack of refrigeration is indeed a challenge. Decided, Hannibal brings the severed limbs to his pantry and fetches out the salt required for his air cured prosciutto. He is going to cook and eat the easily spoiled meat first, then cure the remaining with the resources he has in the pantry. Nothing will go to waste.

The sky is completely dark by the time Hannibal finishes preparing dinner. 

Today has been a good day, the man who Hannibal manages to track down in the woods, then slaughter during his hunting exercise was thankfully not skinny at all. There are a lot of meat in him, but unfortunately without refrigeration, Hannibal can only take what he wants most, then leaves the rest of the dead man to rot, or be eaten by Biters in the wild. He cut the man open and harvested as much meat and internal organs as he could carry that are going to last both Will and himself for another week. 

A red sauce is drizzled delicately on top of a perfectly cooked steak; After the final touch, dinner is ready. 

Hannibal washes his hand, then put on his favourite dinner jacket. Being a proud cannibal as he is, Hannibal composes himself, bracing himself for the emotions he is about to feel. Making sure the food for tonight has been properly presented on the plates before they are served, Hannibal strides into the dining room confidently with two china plates in his hands wearing a small grin that is always on his face when he appears before his Will.

"What's...what's for dinner?" A flat voice asks from the dining room as Hannibal enters. 

With a smile, Hannibal places one of the dishes down at the head of the candlelit dining table, then the other in front of a stoic man who is currently chained to a wheelchair at the adjacent seat. The man appears relatively normal, calm and very much alive, except for the strange stillness in him; His skin is white as death - Technically, the man is already dead, because he is a Biter.

"Good evening, Will. For tonight's dinner, we have striploin steak with red wine reduction, and heart tartare served with Worcestershire, balsamic, pickled mustard seeds and parsley. Dried parsley is not as good as fresh but I hope you wouldn't mind the taste." 

Hannibal smiles bitterly to himself, knowing well his speech, or the taste of his food, don't actually mean anything to the man - Biter - he is talking to. Will has long lost his sense of taste: _Tasteless_ ; Hannibal remembers his first encounter with Will, a wave of sadness overwhelms him mercilessly.

A line of drool drips down Will's chin as he tilts his head like he is trying to comprehend what Hannibal is saying.

Hannibal observes the blank expression on the pale face of the man he loves so dearly, there is still no recognition in the clouded grey eyes, but his verbal ability appears to be recovering. The doctor has been cooking up his own cocktail mix of psychiatric medications at the lab he has set up in the basement of his house, utilising supplies and equipments he has hoarded from a hospital. The latest version of the compound that he has been injecting into Will for three days seems to be working wondrously. The mix has been improved based on Will's response since his experiment began, a new batch of compound has been completed just before dawn before his hunt. 

Hannibal picks up the wine glass on the table and inhales deeply with it placed under his nose, he takes a delicate sip of the Chianti then closes his eyes in ecstasy. Red Fruits, bitter herbs, balsamic vinegar, smoke, preserved sour cherries...The wine is exquisite on his tongue, Hannibal licks his lips, savouring the moment. Sometimes, a daily glass of the remaining wine in his cellar is the only thing that makes Hannibal's bad day a little more tolerable. 

Silverwares on Hannibal's table have been meticulously, compulsively maintained and polished, still looking shiny and new. The blade of the knife sinks into the tender meat in Hannibal's plate with ease. Hannibal spears a piece that has been well-coated with the blood red sauce with his fork and bring it to his mouth. Perfectly cooked, the fat in the meat melts on his tongue, the bite tastes salty and sweet, faintly herby and bitter, delicious. Hannibal hums contently, then takes another sip from the glass. 

Will watches Hannibal chew his food with curious, jealous eyes, his nose sniffs the aroma in the air like a hungry puppy; Slowly his face turns towards Hannibal with an expression what looks almost expectant. 

Hannibal puts down his utensils and glances at Will, an indulgent smile escapes his lips. With a large spoon, he scoops up a measured portion of the finely chopped human heart, and brings the food on the spoon to Will's lips. 

Excited, Will jerks in his restraints violently, his upper body leans forward in eagerness, his thin lips pulled tight, exposing his yellowed teeth; His motion is feral, inhumanly fast as he bites down hard on the offered spoon, causing the chopped meat to scatter all over the table before him.

"What a messy boy you are." Hannibal sighs, but still manages to smile at Will and mean it. 

He doesn't know how much consciousness Will still possesses right now precisely, if his Will is still in that body looking at him behind dead, white eyes, he has to smile for Will. Hannibal continues to feed the Biter spoonful by spoonful of meat, patiently and tenderly, until the plate is empty.

After they have both finished their meal, Hannibal puts away the dishes. Like a well-fed snake losing interest in its prey, the now sated and sleepy Will has no incentive to bite or otherwise attack the man who is cleaning his face with a damp cloth with gloved hands. The hands are within his biting range, but Will just doesn't want to bite Hannibal. He merely looks at Hannibal with disinterest, with a brand of grumpiness that is so familiar to Hannibal, so very 'Will'. Hannibal watches the Biter's sleepy face and chuckles. He misses Will, he misses his Will very, very much. 

Next on Hannibal's plate - his list of things to do tonight - is to give Will the first dose of the new batch of the drug that he stayed up all night cooking up. 

Hannibal wanted desperately to strokes the chocolate soft curls on Will, the hair has stopped growing since eight months ago, and Hannibal has restrained himself from touching it every time he is near Will. Startling a Biter unnecessarily is the last thing he wants to do. Carefully he approaches Will from behind as he reacts differently to pain every time he is being injected. Hannibal reaches out with his gloved steady hand, holding one of the few prepared syringes filled full with a carefully measured out dose of pinkish red liquid that is to be injected into Will.

Will's grey white eyes look up at Hannibal's gleaming red without any expression.

"Before we rest for the night, my dear Will, it's time for your medication." Hannibal says wearily.

His deep-set eyes linger over the brutal bite wound on the left side of Will's neck for a while, The long dried open flesh wound remains a gory mess of sick red and black despite Hannibal's best effort to have it cleaned and stitched up. Hannibal composes himself, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. With practised ease, he swiftly inserts the needle of the syringe into the thickest black vein on Will's arm that has been securely strapped to the wheelchair. Will lets out a scream, a scream that is surprisingly human. Hannibal jerks his hand back, and stares at Will bitterly. 

_The scream._

Hannibal still remembers the scream that Will made on day on which he was lost to fate.

...

It was about eight months ago on a day that was again dark and rainy. It was the day Hannibal and Will decided to leave Baltimore together for the refugee camp at the city outskirt, one that they heard about on the radio broadcast. They were loading up supplies into their car when a rabid Biter jumped out of nowhere, it was aiming for Hannibal's throat, but Will, without hesitation, pushed Hannibal out of the way of his teeth; One side of Will's neck, instead of Hannibal's, was ripped open instantly, partly torn open alive by the bite.

Will let out a loud, wailing scream from the pain - A scream that still haunts Hannibal's nightmare even now.

Hannibal managed to jump and twist and snap the Biter's neck from behind him while he was busy tearing into Will. He detached the Biter's head from his body entirely before it can dive in and attack Will again; But it was already too late, too late for Will. Will had been bitten, infected, lying on the ground, gasping, twisting with pain, yelling at Hannibal to shoot him with the gun.

Hannibal had promised Will; They had promised each other; They had to kill the other without mercy shall one of them was infected. Then of course, Hannibal just couldn't shoot and put down Will like a mad dog. He just couldn't. He carried Will back into the house, avoiding his cursing and yelling. He shackled Will like a rabid dog with thick chains and a heavy duty collar without ending his life, while giving himself time to _think_ and plot what to do next. 

For nine days, Will withered violently, pathetically on his kitchen floor, screeching unintelligible fevered words at Hannibal as the infection gradually took over his brain. Hannibal sat on the floor at a safe distance opposite Will, curling up into a ball with his knees hugged to his chest, trembling like a lost child. In his mind, he repeatedly debated with himself : He knew he should snap Will's neck now and end his suffering, but then, Hannibal would lose Will forever. The infection has ruined Will's meat, Hannibal couldn't even eat and honour Will after his death. It was immensely tragic; He could not take a part of Will within him like he did with Mischa...

Hannibal stared at Will with unblinking eyes as humanity drained from his lover day by day. 

Ironically, Will finally began to develop an appetite for human flesh. Hannibal hissed an angry, mocking laugh at Will, at himself.

There was always a calm before a human turned completely into a Biter when their brain died. On the night before Will turned completely rabid, Hannibal took the chance to transfer him to a wheelchair, strapping him to it with sturdy leather straps on his neck, chest, arms, waist, thighs, and legs; Then finally, a clear face mask identical to one that are used in asylum.

"You were supposed to leave." Will told Hannibal out of the blue, his mind seemed surprisingly clear and lucid.

"I...couldn't leave without you." Hannibal chuckled, he let tears in his eyes fall as he continued working on securing the binding on Will's wrists. 

Will would probably never forgive Hannibal for his selfishness, if he still had a mind of his own. At the very beginning of the outbreak, Hannibal and Will unanimously agreed that if one of them got infected, the other wouldn't hesitate to put the infected one down. Will would have wanted Hannibal to do it, to end his life as he had once promised. Will must be very disappointed in him for the betrayal.

Hannibal reached out to Will, he caressed his face lovingly with his thumb, pulling him into his arm and kissed his forehead. "I love you, Will." 

Can't live with him, can't live without him. Hannibal threw his arms around Will's neck, quietly sobbing on his shoulder. It'd possibly be their last embrace before Hannibal could figure out a cure to save Will. "Will you forgive me?" 

...

 

**"—ANNIBAL!"**

Will?

A sudden jerk from Will forces Hannibal's consciousness back to reality. Minutes after being injected with the latest dose of drug, Will begins grunting and struggling in his wheelchair like a provoked animal. Hannibal tightens his grip on Will, but before he can register what is happening, a hand reaches up and claws into his chest. Will has somehow managed to loosen the strap on his wrist, quietly unbounded himself during Hannibal's absence. Hannibal is startled but fascinated with a flash of hope, Will has been concealing the fact that one of his hand has been freed the entire time like a being with intelligence? _Curious._ Will pulls him down violently by the shirt collar with a feral hiss. The syringe rolls out of Hannibal's hand as Will bites down on the flesh of Hannibal's throat without mercy. 

White hot pain washes over Hannibal's mind, his knees give out almost instantly, his fingers landing on Will's shoulders and they clutches and push Will away with all the force he can manage. 

"Will..." Hannibal presses a hand to the deep wound on his neck, hot blood spurts out from his ripped arteries, oozing non-stop from the cut.

Will looks at the blood, mesmerised but confused. He says to Hannibal absently, "You were supposed to leave!"

Hearing Will's human voice again, Hannibal can't help but tears up.

He drags himself to the syringe lying on the floor, grabbing it in his trembling hand, clutching it tightly with his twitching fingers. His other hand grasps widely, desperately on the fabric of Will's jeans, latching himself, pulling himself to Will. Before Hannibal's consciousness blacks out, with the last of his strength, he jams the compound in the syringe into Will's thigh. 

" _Goodbye, My dear Will..._ " Hannibal murmured, his gaze never leaving Will's as a hot darkness claims him.

—

The rain.

The rain has stopped.

An intense pain is coursing through his veins the moment Hannibal opens his eyes again. The rain has stopped. It's morning, or noon, or afternoon Hannibal cannot tell the time. A weak ray of sunlight filters through the crack on the boarded-up window and shines onto the floor of the dining room, on a broken wheelchair lying on the floor. Will. Will is gone, freed. Hannibal struggles to sit up, he tries moving his fingers and toes, to his surprise, none of them are missing, yet. Infected, based on his past observation on Will, Hannibal knows he has approximately nine days before the virus claims his mind - That is, if Will, refrains himself from eating him alive. He is practically meat to Will now. Hannibal focuses his mind, he has prepared a dozen doses, and maybe, just maybe, he still have a chance to reverse the spread of virus within him. He freezes, when he feels ice cold fingers touching his right arm. The touch was eerily gentle. Hannibal snaps out of his thoughts. His maroon red eyes widened slightly in astonishment as he made contact with Will's lifeless clouded gaze. The eye contact was uncomfortable but it feels strange. Hannibal watches Will lowers his lifeless eyes again as he lifts Hannibal's hand up to his mouth slowly. Convinced that Will is going to eat him alive starting with his fingers, Hannibal braces himself for the pain. He is going to hide very deep down into his memory palace in order to escape such a pain, the pain being eaten bite by bite...It's possibly the worst death that Hannibal can imagine himself going through. Hannibal closes his eyes when Aria of Bach's Goldberg Variations begins playing in his mind... ...But then. 

But then. The pain hasn't come, instead, a gentle kiss is placed on his knuckles. 

"Will..." 

Without a word, Will inserts a needle into Hannibal's arm, mirroring Hannibal's past action, he empties the content of the syringe into Hannibal's now darkened vein.

A coolness circulates through his body, Hannibal swoons and begins to doze off. He dreams of a bright, full moon in a cloudless sky, the blood covering Will and him appears quite black in the moonlight... 

Before his mind dissolves into hot darkness, Hannibal seems to hear Will saying, "Hannibal, I forgive you."

Will lays his head on Hannibal's chest and listens for the weakening heartbeat…Da-dum… da-dum… … da-dum…until it stutters to a halt, and then it stops entirely.

 

—

 

_Another eight months later—_

 

The sound of gunshots echoes through the air, Billy Morgan watches a beautiful doe falls to the ground with a loud thud through his scope. He is disappointed that it is not a buck, he swears he sees a pair huge antlers moving among the bushes when he enters the woods. He splits out the tobacco he is chewing and pouts.

Billy gets up and walks to retrieve his game. The woods has become eerily quiet, there is no sound of birds, bees or any living creatures other than the wind and soft shuffle of leaves. The hunter suddenly recalls the warning from an old man on the road who sold him the tobacco, a chill rakes across his skin and made the hairs on his neck stand on end. 

...

"Biters my ass! Those bastards moved like athletes." The old man grumbles as he climbs on his motorbike. "They can move fast, they're intelligent."

"Intelligent Zoms? Please..." Billy shakes his head. "You should stop smoking, man."

"If I were you, I'll stay away from Wolf Trap." The old man waves his goodbye. 

...

And here he is, in Wolf Trap, Billy licks his lips. 

"HELP!" Billy is startled out of his thoughts by a voice resonating from somewhere not far away, it is the blood-curling, desperate scream of a man who is about to die. 

There, lying on the ground at a short distance from his dead doe, is a man with a head of messy brown curly hair. 

"Sir? Are you okay?" Billy clears his throat then asks with caution, his hand tightened on his rifle in reflex.

"He...Help...me...Someone help me damnit..." The man groans in a hoarse but gentle voice. 

Hearing a rather human response, Billy relaxes, he drops his gun and hurries to the man's side. With a grunt, he rolls the man onto his back. 

"What the Fuu.." Billy stumbles backward and curses. 

The man on the ground is staring up at him with mischief in his clouded lifeless eyes. Billy reaches for his rifle, but it is already way too late, something heavy and big jumps on his back from behind and bites down hard on his neck, and before he can move a muscle to squeeze the trigger, the man on the ground whips out his clawed hand, sticks it into his abdomen and jerks downward in one swift twist. Billy arches back as blood fountains from his throat and belly, he falls to the ground, twists in pain.

"Damage the organs, you ruin the meat." The taller Biter judges the cut and comments. 

Billy, convulsing on the ground but still quite alive, looks up at the two Biters in terror as they both squats beside him and loom over this body in the most human and casual manner. 

"I didn't do that on purpose." The other one shrugs, he tilts his head with an innocent frown. “We can give the innards to the dogs.” 

"Of course you didn't, my dear Will." The deeper voice scolds lightly with affection. "What a cunning boy you are."

The shadows of the two men under the grey sky begin to blur, bathed in the blood of their prey, they lean forward to nuzzle and scent each other. 

"We can still share the brain." One of them offers. 

"In that case, I would recommend Parmesan-crumbed brains, served with a lime and mint dipping sauce, and — " The deep soothing voice sounds distant and distorted. 

Billy's vision darkens inward from the corners much like a closing lens, and then it fades to nothingness.

**Author's Note:**

> ...And the Zombie!Murder Husbands lived happily ever after. 
> 
> THE END 
> 
> >:D
> 
> I'm on Tumblr too :D [@vulcanplomeeksoup](http://vulcanplomeeksoup.tumblr.com) Come chat with me about Hannibal !


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